


Common Goal

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Series: Killers for Hire (SkyeWard AU) [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Killers for Hire, Trigger: Water Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2196366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye tries to have rebound sex with Trip.  Trip convinces her to stop Ward from sleeping with someone else.  Ward ends up needing more help then they thought.  Breakups are complicated, but this is something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Common Goal

Skye finds Trip in Istanbul.  He’s staying somewhere fancy, which has always been his style, though she’s never understood it.  He’s going to be here for what, one night?  Why bother?

She pops open the lock on his fourth-floor window with ease.  He’s wasting his money.  Her room might have bugs in the shower, but when she locks the window, it stays locked.

“Trip?” she calls.  She slides in through the window.  Shoes off.  Window closed, again. She pads across the carpet.  “You here?” she asks.  “Do you have a mini-bar?”  Maybe he’s out.  Maybe he’s surveying the area.  She’s not really sure why he’d bother.  They know Istanbul like they were born here.  Her and Trip and-

She really hopes he has a mini-bar.  She crosses past the bed, to the desk.  A desk, a chest of drawers, and- Yes!  Thank God.  She opens the mini bar and pulls out the closest bottle.  The labels are all in Turkish, and that’s how she knows it’s good.

She’ll wait for him to show up to do an actual shot, but that doesn’t mean she can’t drink from the bottle.

She lays out on the bed, neatly made.  Trip’s been here; his coat is slung over the desk chair, his dress shoes are resting outside the closet, and she doesn’t have to check the bathroom to know he’s probably got enough weapons to take down a small city.  Classic Trip.

  
  


There’s someone at the door.  She hopes it’s not housekeeping.  She hopes she’s in the right room, though that’s not something she’d mess up.

Trip comes into his room and notices her immediately. His hand instinctively goes to the gun to the gun he’s got tucked under his coat. 

“Hey stranger,” she says.  She wiggles over.  “Come lay down.”

He puts his hand back down and sighs.  “Really?” he says.  “I left for five minutes.”

“Welcome back, then,” Skye says, raising the bottle to him.

He eyes her warily.  “Is that the hotel’s liquor?” he asks.

“Yep,” she says.  She tilts it back and takes a long swig without breaking eye contact.

“You’re going to pay me back for that,” he says.

“Nope,” she replies.

He puts his bag down.  “Would you believe you’re actually handling this better than he is?” Trip asks. 

Skye takes another drink.

“Don’t chug the whole bottle!” Trip says.  “I am not cleaning your puke out of the bedspread.”

“Can we not talk about him?” Skye asks, tossing her hair over her shoulder.  “I’m not here to talk about him.”

“Really?” Trip asks, taking off his shoes.  He loosens his tie.  “Because you’re literally all he’s been talking about.”

She wrinkles her nose.  “Is that supposed to make me feel bad?”

He laughs to himself, undoing the buttons on his shirt.  He slides it off.  “Of course not,” he says.  “You never feel bad about anything.”  Is that a hint?  Does he really want to try and play this game with her?

She grins.  Not tonight.  “Damn straight.”

He’s working on his belt, now.  Walking towards the bed.  “So how do you want to do this?” he asks.

Skye doesn’t miss a beat.  “It’s been so long,” she says.  “Whatever you want, baby.”

Trip smiles, but there’s a coldness to it that she doesn’t miss.  He shakes his head.  “I’m not your baby, Skye.”

“Don’t play mad,” she says, rolling onto her stomach.  “You’re not saying no, are you?”

“I’m not,” Trip says.  “If this is what you want, I’m all for it.”

She puts the bottle on the bedside table, then goes for her shirt.  “Good man.”

“Because I know you’re absolutely not doing this to convince yourself you’re not in love,” he says.  He drops his pants, and climbs into bed in his boxer-briefs.

She glares at him and unhooks her bra.  “I’m not.”

He reaches for the button on her jeans.  “You don’t feel a thing for anyone.  You’re not going to regret this.”

He’s going too slowly, so she undoes her jeans herself, and slides them down.  Just the two of them, in Trip’s fancy hotel room, in their underwear.  Perfect.  Exactly what she wants.

He moves over her and presses kisses to her neck.  She lets out a content little sigh, and runs her hands along his sides.  Trip nips her jaw.  “You’re not thinking that he could be doing this exact thing with someone else right now.”

  
  


She knees Trip in the stomach.  It’s a reflex.

“Ow,” he protests.  He sits back on his knees.  He crosses his arms over his stomach.  “Don’t take it out on the abs!”

Skye glares.  “Seriously?”

“What?” Trip asks.  “I work hard on them!”

“Not that,” she says.  “The Grant sleeping with someone else thing.”

“Oh that,” Trip says, like it’s no big deal.  “I mean, that’s what I told him to do.”

Skye bolts upright.  “You WHAT?”

“Since you don’t love him!” Trip says.  “I figured he should move on!”

She swears a blue streak as she gets out of bed.  “You fucking asshole,” she says. “Fuck.”

“Hey,” Trip says, and he sounds oh-so-pleased with himself.  “We can still have sex, baby.”

“Fuck you,” she says, pulling her shirt back on.  “Fuck.  Where is he?”

“Oh didn’t I tell you?” Trip says.  “He’s actually in Istanbul.”

She spins towards him.  She’d kill him, but she left her gun at home.  “You-”

“Booked a hotel knowing you’d come to visit me while Grant was in town?” Trip asks.  “Maybe.”

“You don’t owe him,” Skye says, as she pulls her pants back on.

“No,” Trip says.  “I guess I don’t.  Neither do you.  And yet-” he gestures to her.

“Shut up,” she says.  “Can I borrow one of your guns?”

“Oh no,” Trip says, getting off the bed.  He hasn’t bothered getting re-dressed, and she really should say something.  Just because they’re not having sex tonight doesn’t mean he’s not a giant fucking distraction when he’s in his underwear.  “You don’t get to break into my hotel room, try and have sex with me, and then steal my guns so that you can go make amends with Grant.”

“I’m not ‘making amends,’” she says, with the most resentful air quotes she can manage.

“You’re just going to stop him from hooking up with someone else,” Trip says.

“Yep,” Skye replies.

He crosses his arms.  Gah! Biceps! Look away!  “Even though you’re not together.  So you don’t actually have any right to stop him.”

Skye sneers.  “I have plenty of right, thank you.”

“This would be so much easier if you weren’t so dedicated to playing this part,” Trip tells her.

“What part?” she says.

“This little-miss-bad-bitch thing,” Trip says.  “You think one soft spot is going to ruin your whole image.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.  “No one writes narratives in their heads but you.”

He’s unflinching.  Always is.  “You can’t have my gun,” he tells her.

“I’m borrowing,” she protests.

“I’m coming with you,” he says.

“The fuck you are,” she replies.  “You’re not even dressed.”

“Right, because I’m going to leave looking like this,” he says, grabbing his pants.  “You two need me.  Otherwise you’re just going to fuck up again.”

Skye frowns.  “That’s not fair, Trip.”

“The truth rarely is,” he replies.  He’s got pants on now, and it only barely helps. 

She tries her best to ignore him.  “You keep your guns in the bathroom, right?”

“I might,” Trip says.

Skye makes a noise of disinterest before throwing the bathroom door open and turing on the lights.  The shower curtain is closed, but when she pulls it back, it’s just an empty tub.

“Under the sink,” Trip tells her, from the doorway.

“Shut up,” she says.  She opens the cabinet under the sink and grins.  “I’m taking the big one.”

  
  


She feels underdressed.  “Never mentioned Grant was meeting you at a nightclub,” she hisses, as Trip locks up his motorcycle.  “I look like a dumb tourist!” In her defense, she had dressed in clothes that were comfortable. Good for sneaking into hotel rooms and quickly taking off before engaging Trip in rebound sex.  She hadn’t been planning to go out.  She kicks a few stray rocks with her Chucks.  “I’m not going to get in looking like this.”

He laughs.  “First of all, you’re hot.  So yes you are.” He surveys her outfit.  “Second, just play dumb American tourist to my suave traveller,” he gives her a wink.  

“Do you do these things to me on purpose?” she asks.

He just grins back and offers her his arm.  “Of course not,” he says.  “But the universe usually works things out in my favor.”

She’s not sure what she hates more: him, or the fact that he’s right.  She hooks her arm through his.

“Hey,” Trip says, as they cross the street. “Don’t get pissy with me.  We could’ve been back in my room, getting busy.”

“You told me I should stop Grant from hooking up!” she protests.

“I never said that!” Trip says.  “I asked if it would bother you.  And it does.  So here we are.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Skye says.

“You shut up,” he says.  “And get into character.  Jesus, Skye.  Can you not give me amateur hour?”

She would punch him in the dick if he didn’t have a point.  The bouncer can see them.  She needs to turn it on.

The bouncer is a short man, with wide shoulders and a frown.  And he is not a fan of Skye’s outfit, she can already tell.

“Evening,” Trip says, with his slickest, most charming grin.  “How much to get in?”

The bouncer mutters something in Turkish that makes Skye want to slap him, but she won’t.  Dumb American tourists don’t speak Turkish.  But Trip does.

«I know she’s underdressed,» he says.  Trip’s always been good at accents, and Skye envies him for it.  «But she’s just an American. And you know what American girls are like.» He waggles his eyebrows. Always with the eyebrows.

«She doesn’t speak Turkish?» The bouncer asks.

«Not a word,» Trip says. «But I’m trying to show her a good time.»

«I will have to charge you extra,» the bouncer says. «Because of her clothes.»

Trip nods in understanding. «Of course.» He turns his head to Skye.  “Babe, could you grab my wallet? Right back pocket.”

She wants to tell him that she’ll shove his wallet straight up his ass, but she wants this to work.  She bats her eyelashes.  “Of course,” she says.  She reaches into his back pocket as quickly as she can.  She does not need to give him the satisfaction of thinking she’s copping a feel.

“Here,” she says, presenting the black wallet between her slender fingers.  “Thanks for covering me, baby.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says.  

He hands the the money to the bouncer, and the bouncer nods before stepping aside. «Good luck,» he says, with a conspiratory grin.

Trip winks back.  Ugh.  Gross.  Skye lets go of his arm as soon as they’re inside.

“Can I have my credit card back?” Trip asks.

Skye frowns.  “I didn’t take any of your cards.”

He holds out his hand.  “Skye…”

“Fine,” she says, handing him back his stupid credit card.  “I mean, you did give me your wallet.”

“And my money,” he replies.

“Fuck you,” she replies, and hands him back his cash.

“You’re good,” he says.  “Didn’t even see you pocket it.”

“I’m the best,” Skye replies.  “And…thanks.  For getting me in.”

“Anything for true love,” he says.

“Moment over,” Skye tells him, rolling her eyes.  “Text Grant.  See if he’s here.”

“On it,” Trip asks. “Care to dance while we wait?”

“Why don’t you buy me a drink instead?” Skye says.

Trip fondly shakes his head. “Of course,” he says, and leads her to the bar.

  
  


“Where the fuck is he?” Skye asks.  She’s halfway through whatever the house special is, and it’s a little too bitter for her liking.  And that’s not Trip’s fault.  He doesn’t know her drink order.  Ward does, and Ward has apparently decided to go fucking missing.

“He hasn’t texted back,” Trip says.  “I’ll let you know when he does.”

“It’s taking foreveeeer,” Skye whines.

“It’s been like ten minutes,” Trip says.  “Maybe he’s late.”

“Not his style,” Skye says.

“Maybe he forgot his phone.”

“It’s practically stapled to him.”

“He could be hooking up in the bathroom.”

Skye glares at him.  “Fuck it,” she says.  “I’m tracing his phone.”  She pulls her phone out of her pocket.

“That’s not overreacting,” Trip says.

“Shut up and finish my drink,” Skye says.  This is far from the first time she’s traced Ward’s phone.  In fact, her phone is practically programmed to do it automatically at this point.

A little ping appears on her screen.  “There!” she declares.  “Now I just find this building’s blueprints and…”

“You really shouldn’t be able to do that from your phone,” Trip says.

“Aw don’t be jealous,” Skye replies, not looking up.  “It’s not my fault I get the best tech toys.”

“I’m not the jealous one,” Trip says.  And that earns him at least some of her attention.  He holds up his hands.  “I’m just saying.  If you were going to get this jealous, you shouldn’t have kicked him out.”

She bristles.  “I didn’t kick him out!”

“That’s not how he tells it,” Trip says.  “And he tells it a lot.”

“Well he’s wrong,” Skye mutters.

“You’re not good for him.”

“Excuse me?”

Trip sighs.  “You can’t just…you can’t break his heart and just expect him to take you back when you keep calling.  And then break his heart again.  It’s not right, Skye.”

“Please don’t lecture me on right and wrong,” Skye says.  “You kill people for a living.”

“So do you.”

“And who says I want him to take me back?” she says.  “Maybe I just want to make sure he’s not hooking up with some assassin sent to kill him, or something.”

“Right,” Trip says.  “That’s why.”

“You want my advice, Trip?” she says.  “Stay out of it.”

“She says after trying to have sex with me.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Skye demands.  She looks down at her phone.  “Blueprints are done.”

“And?”

“And apparently we’re standing on top of Ward,” she says.  She wrinkles her nose.  “That doesn’t-”

She and Trip get it at the same time.  “Guess the assassin thing wasn’t too far off,” Trip says.

Skye curses as she surveys the club.  Stupid Grant.  Stupid, stupid Grant.  “Quickest way to the basement?” she checks her phone again.  “If there’s a staircase here then we should look…” she spots it, by the bathrooms.  “Guarded door.”

“Of course,” Trip says.  “We probably shouldn’t make a scene.”

“Not when they have Grant,” Skye says.  “We do this quietly.”

Trip looks at the guards.  “Ladies pick.”

“I’ll take the one on the right,” she says.  “And Trip?”

“Yeah?”

“Not a fucking word about true love.  Or I’ll take you out too.”

He laughs.  “Like you could,” he says.

  
  


“Well,” Skye says, as the door to the basement swings behind them.  “That was fairly easy.”

“Did you kill yours or just knock him out?” Trip asks, wiping his hands on his pants.

Skye shrugs.  “I killed him, but it was quick! I just don’t want anyone coming in and surprising us from behind, you know?”

“It’s cool,” Trip says.  “I did the same.”

“Oh good,” Skye says.  “How many stairs do you think there are?”

“Plenty.”

They’re disturbed by the sound of coughing, and muffled voices.

Skye almost bolts down the stairs.  Trip grabs her arm.  “Hey,” he hisses.  “We don’t know what it looks like down there.  We go in quiet.”

She hates when he’s right.  She still pulls her gun out, clicks the safety off.  “Fine,” she says.  “But if they hurt him…”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Trip says.

Another coughing fit.

“Fuck!” Skye hisses.

Trip draws his gun.  “Let’s go,” he says.

He was right about the stairs.  There’s plenty of them, and the coughing gets louder and Skye knows she hears the sound of water rushing.  Her trigger finger twitches.  If they’re doing what she thinks they are-

Well, she’s going to kill a lot of people tonight. 

There’s a doorway at the bottom of the stairs.  Skye makes it there before Trip does and peeks her head around.

«You are very stupid.» There’s a group of what, six thugs?  And they don’t look like local mobsters.  They look like big-time guys.  Nice suits, nice guns.  Oh, Ward.  What did you stumble into.

“Hnh?” Ward asks.  Ward.  Ward.  His hair is dripping wet, falling into his swollen eyes.  They broke his nose.  They broke his nose and why is he so sluggish?  Grant Ward is never sluggish.  Grant Ward laughs when being tortured.  She’s seen it.  What’s wrong with him?  What’s wrong with him?

«Just give us the girl’s location,» the same one says.  «We owe her a visit.»

Grant stares at him with a glazed look in his eyes.  “Girl?”

«Girl.  Your whore.»

Grant glares the best he can.  Stop.  Stop.  Everything needs to stop.  They want her?  They’re torturing Grant for her?

“Don’t…know…any…whores,” Grant manages, and she can tell, even in his bizarre state, that he’s proud of himself.

«Suit yourself.»  The man gestures, and someone else lifts a heavy bucket of water.  «Do it again.»

Grant shakes his head.  “No,” he protests. “Not again…” He must be ill.  Or drugged.  He must be drugged.  Because Skye has never heard him object to torture.  Not even when they were pulling his fingernails off.  But this is…water.  This is different.

And they drugged him.

«The girl?»

Ward doesn’t even consider it.  He just lolls his head back and lets them put a towel over his face.

No.  Absolutely not.  They’re about to tilt the chair back-

Skye fires two shots.  One into the man holding the bucket, and one into the man in charge.  

“Well,” Trip says, cocking his gun.  “That happened.”

“Just move!” Skye demands.  

Trip doesn’t have to be told twice.

It’s not the same as working with Ward.  With Ward, it’s all smooth movements and taking each other’s cues.  She and Trip shoot the same people and almost bump into each other and it doesn’t go as well as planned, though by the end of it there’s six dead men, a lot of blood, and Grant Ward, coughing with a wet towel in his lap.

“Hey,” Skye says, rushing towards him, dropping to her knees.  Dropping to her knees in front of Grant Ward.  She should be ashamed of herself.  “Hey, Grant.  You with me?”  She pulls the towel out of his lap and rubs his legs while Trip gets the handcuffs.

“Skye?” Ward asks, so fragile and quiet and nothing like him.  “You’re here?”

The cuffs snap, and suddenly Ward’s hands are in her hair.  She ignores the red skin of his wrists.

“I’m here,” she says.

“He’s been drugged,” Trip says.  “Someone must’ve recognized him and asked the bartender for a favor.”

Ward keeps repeating her name and touching at her face.  His hands are cold.  She looks up at Trip.  “You don’t say.”

“Ward, buddy,” Trip says.  “Can you walk?”

Ward gives a slow nod.  Skye pulls back from his hands.  “Get up, then.  Come on, Grant.  I need to take you home.”

He grins at her with a split lip.  “Home.”  He tries to stand, he does, and almost immediately falls back into the chair.

“Trip?” Skye says.

“I got him,” Trip says, grabbing Ward by the waist and hoisting him up.  “Hey buddy, do you know if there’s another exit around here?”

“We can’t just go back upstairs?” Skye asks.

“With Istanbul’s most wanted?” Trip says.  “Bad idea. Especially since they sounded like they have a bone to pick with you, too.”

“But no one’s come running down here,” Skye points out.

“Soundproof basement,” Trip tells her.  “Still a bad idea.”

“Exit,” Ward slurs, and nods towards the rear wall.  “Kitchen.  They were…talking.”

“That should work,” Trip says.

“When we’re out,” Skye says.  “You take him on your bike, and I’ll follow you on his.”

Trip smirks.  “You’re really going to use this as an excuse to drive his bike?”

Skye scoffs and reaches into the front pocket of Ward’s jeans.  He whimpers.  “Hush, baby,” she says, when he looks at her with pleading eyes.  “I’m just gonna get your bike home safe, okay?”  She jingles the keys in front of him.  “Okay?”

He nods.  And that’s how Skye knows he’s really fucked up.  “I missed you…” he says.

She blinks.  “Thank you,” she replies.

Trip gives her a sort of exasperated look, and she mouths “What?”  Trip can only shake his head.

Skye sighs.  Grant stares at her, stares and stares, and she couldn’t feel worse if she tried.  She gently cradles his face between her hands.  He’s so bloody.  Her Grant.  Her poor Grant.  “I missed you too,” she says.  She stands on the tips of her toes and lightly kisses his lips.  “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

This is not how she thought this reunion would go.  There was definitely supposed to be a lot more yelling and cursing and hurt.  A different kind of hurt, at least.  The sharp, stinging kind, instead of this dull ache.

Would he even be here if it wasn’t for her?  Probably not.  

She reloads her gun.  “I’ll cover you if we meet any issues.  First and most important thing is to get Grant outside and safe no matter what.”

“Okay but you know if I left you to die in any situation, ever, he would kill me?” Trip asks.

Skye ignores him.  She smashes the lock on the rear door.  One of the men probably had a key in their pocket, but it felt so much better to break the lock instead.

“Come on,” she says.

  
  


They prop Ward up on Trip’s king-sized bed.  “He looks like shit,” Skye says.  She grabs the booze, still sitting on the nightstand, and a wad of tissues.  Ward slumps back onto the pillows as Skye wets the tissues, and touches the alcohol to the split skin of his cheek.  Ward winces.

“Sorry, baby,” she says.  “We’ve got to clean these cuts.”

He dully nods in understanding.

“Skye!” Trip says.

She keeps pressing.  “What?”

“I have a first aid kit!”

Skye drops her hands away from Ward’s face.  “Why didn’t you say so?”

“I was literally about to!” Trip protests.  “But you just grabbed the liquor!” Trip takes the tissues from her hand.  “Slow down, Clara Barton.  Slow down.”

Skye huffs.  “Go get the first aid kit, then,” she says.  “And for the record,” Skye calls after him.  “They didn’t waste booze on injured men in the Civil War.”

“Oh look,” Trip says back.  “She reads!”

Skye ignores him, instead choosing to move a little closer to Ward.  She pushes the wet hair off of his forehead.  His eyes flutter from her touch.

“Trip,” she asks.  “Do you know how to set a broken nose?”

“Please,” Trip says, returning to the bedroom with a white case.  “I’m better than a doctor.”

“You can’t mess up,” Skye pleads, actually pleads, as Trip sets the case down on the bed.

“You know even if his nose was a little crooked,” Trip says.  “It would probably just make him more handsome.”

“Trip!” Skye says.  “Fix his nose.”

“I’m going to,” Trip says.  “But you need to move over.”

Skye goes to get up, and Ward’s hand finds her wrist.  “Stay,” he begs, in his bleary little voice.

“I’m staying,” she says.  “I just need to move to your other side.”

“Promise?” he asks.

She manages to find a smile for him.  She nods.

Something whispers to her that he is pathetic, like this.  That she is even worse, for letting him hold her hand as Trip sets his nose.  But for once, just for once, she tries to swallow it down.

“Is he concussed?” Skye asks.

“I’ll check,” Trip says.

“Should we induce vomiting?” Skye asks.  “Try to get the drugs out of his system?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Trip-”

“Skye,” he says.  “I know what I’m doing, okay?”

She wants to protest.  She does.  But she believes him.  Trip used to be…something else.  Before he picked up his sniper rifle.  Not like her and Ward.  Trip had a future, once upon a time.

But the life found him eventually.

“There,” Trip says, putting the tape across Ward’s nose.  “Set.”

“We should clean his cuts and put him to bed,” Skye says.

“Of course, Nurse Skye,” Trip says.  He shoots her a smile, but she can’t find the energy to give him one back.

“Why did they do this to him?” Skye says.  “I’m not that important.”  Trip draws his lips into a line, which is always a cause for concern.  “What?”

“You’re a lot more valuable than you’d think,” Trip says. “I know, I was surprised, too.”

“Excuse me?”

“You angered some very…important people.”

Skye swallows.  “When?”

“About two months ago.”

She freezes.  The warehouse.  The nightclub.  People who had recognized her.  People who had tried to kill her.  She looked at Ward, already beginning to nod off.  “You fucking idiot,” she whispers.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What?” Trip asks.

Skye shakes her head. “I was on him for…being on my ass and he was- He knew.”

“Of course he knew,” Trip says.  “He didn’t want you to find out.  Figured he could protect you.”

She presses a kiss to Ward’s temple.  Something wells in her throat.  Pathetic.  Disgusting.  Stupid.  But.  “He did.”

“Skye,” Trip offers.

“I’m taking a shower,” she says.  “And I’m going to bed.”

“You didn’t know-”

“I…” she says.  She shuts her eyes.  “I never meant for this to happen.  I didn’t want him to get hurt because of me.”

“Well-”

Her eyes snap open.  “If you make a comment about me breaking his heart,” she warns.  “I will shoot you.”

“Do you want to tuck him in first?” Trip asks, and he’s only half-teasing.  “I’ll keep watch while you shower.”

She nods.  “Help me get his clothes off.”  She pulls Ward back from the headboard, and Trip holds him still while Skye takes off Ward’s wet clothes.

For once, Trip doesn’t have a joke.  It’s unlike him to be quiet.  It’s unlike her to be so tender.  It’s unlike Ward to be so out of it.

This is fucked.  This is so fucked.  She just wants him to snap out of it, grab her shoulders and call her stupid and foolish and kiss her until-

This is so, so fucked.

“I love you,” Ward mumbles, as Skye lays him back down.

She doesn’t look at Trip.  She can’t.

She thinks of broken bathrooms and flushed rings.

Guns and crawlspaces and doctors and kisses and him.

Always him.

She will not cry.  “I know, Grant,” she says.  “I know.”


End file.
